


Loitering, Within Tent

by saltstreets



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rare Pair Week 2019, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: Edward hadn’t even truly needed to be sweet-talked into it.For Rare Pair Week Thirstday, "a sudden shock of skin".
Relationships: Lt Edward Little/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2019





	Loitering, Within Tent

Later, Edward will rationalise his actions on the fact that he hasn’t been touched beyond a friendly pat on the shoulder, a clasp of the upper arm, in nearly three years. He has never in all that time been truly alone: it had been impossible to be alone on a ship the size of _Terror_, and is even more impossible in the camp. But being alone is a different beast entirely to being lonely, and Edward has certainly felt that. These recent months in particular.

Knowing that he’s been on edge already doesn’t entirely wipe away the heat of shame in his belly, but it helps. It helps as well that Sergeant Tozer is surprisingly capable at what he is doing, which at the moment happens to be stroking Edward’s cock with a light hand, the other twisting in the hair at the back of Edward’s head.

Edward hadn’t even truly needed to be sweet-talked into it. Tozer had merely had to drop a few meaningful words and receive a suitably cautious response and now here he is. He’d removed the outer layer of his slops and his red coat is bright in the dim of Edward’s tent, a constant reminder of just who this is with his rough fingers sure around Edward’s length. Edward had been hard from the moment Tozer had pushed through the tent flap, nearly rutting against the man’s leg in need when Tozer had shoved him back against the cot.

But what he feels goes beyond the shame of what they’re doing: it’s just _embarrassing_ how badly Edward wants this. Here he is, a man grown, panting at having a friendly hand down his trousers as if he’s a boy chancing on his first tumble with an obliging lass. He has a dawning suspicion that even said trousers aspect is almost inconsequential. It’s becoming depressingly evident that Tozer could most likely have gotten a similar response just by stroking Edward’s back, or -even more mortifying- simply holding his hand.

Tozer increases the pace of his strokes, escalating from the languid movements that he has obviously been enjoying and that have been driving Edward nearly insane. His breath is hot and close against Edward’s skin and it’s almost too much to bear in contrast to the chill, stale air of the tent, the mouldering reek of the canvas momentarily covered by the smell of sweat on Tozer’s neck.

“You’ll tell me how you like it, won’t you sir?” Tozer asks quietly. “Let me know what I can do for you. Every man’s got his preferences. Perhaps you’d like it better with my mouth.” He pulls Edward closer and tugs a little on his hair. God, but his voice is filthy. Edward is as shocked as he is aroused, shocked that Tozer saying such things is making his blood hot in his veins, steaming under the skin. He isn’t like this- he never used to be like this. But rational thinking has long since flown and all he can concentrate on is Tozer; Tozer with his hand down Edward’s trousers, Tozer on his knees with his chapped lips red and wet and used, Tozer slicking himself and taking Edward as he pleases-

“Or is it that _you_ want to be the one on your knees? You want me to force you down and have you suck on my cock a little while, is that what you’d like?”

Edward spills over with a stifled cry. He’s barely done a thing. Tozer only had to rub his cock a few times and whisper a few choice words before Edward was spent, the rush of completion curling his frozen toes inside his boots. He feels drained and quite suddenly, cold again. He’s also increasingly aware of the state he’s in: belt hanging loosely by a few loops, his clothing in disarray and mess of spend over his trousers and thighs. He’s certain his hair is a ruin as well from Tozer’s searching fingers, though these days no one in the camp looks particularly put together. His dishevelment is more blatant in comparison to Tozer: the man hasn’t undone a single button. Edward can’t even tell if Tozer is aroused underneath his layers. It had been over so quickly.

“Been a while, has it sir?” says Tozer, still with that facsimile of deference which sends a quivering, confused spark up Edward’s slumped spine even as Tozer wipes his hand on Edward’s already soiled trousers. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Everyone gets lonely. Difficult not to, out on the ice like this.” Tozer twitches his lip in a smile as if he can read Edward’s thoughts, messy and abashed as they are. “Just you know where to find me if you get lonely again.”

**Author's Note:**

> If this fic had been from Tozer's POV he would have seemed a lot less cool and put-together because as a matter of fact, the touch-starved tag, is for both of them. Thank u for ur attention
> 
> Also sorry about the title, it is 4.38 AM and I'm finding it extremely hilarious at the moment. :D


End file.
